


Behind the glass

by WHUMPBBY



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Inspired by Art, M/M, They all live, alternative universe, everything is fine, gabriel is INVESTED, jack is in bad shape, jesse has the brains, may be continued may be not, mention of amputation, unexpected drama?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-17
Updated: 2018-06-17
Packaged: 2019-05-24 17:02:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14958561
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WHUMPBBY/pseuds/WHUMPBBY
Summary: The intel led Gabe to believe that the unit was researching weapons, so he expected to find another warehouse stacked to the ceiling with inconspicuous crates full of laser guns, sonic grenades, and overall trash that could be taken to Gibraltar, scanned, disarmed and repackaged into even less conspicuous crates.To be honest, they were rapidly running out of space for all of the damn crates they’ve managed to hoard throughout the years and it was a high time for something to change.However, standing in the darkened, cramped room three floors below the street-level and staring at the floor-to-ceiling reinforced glass tube full of thick, slowly bubbling fluid, a few miles of plastic tubes and bits of metal encasing a pale, scarred human body… Gabriel wanted the goddamn crates back.





	Behind the glass

**Author's Note:**

> The art that inspired this piece is amazing http://orenjimaru.tumblr.com/post/160957505780/the-soldier-who-fell-in-love-with-a-marionette you should send the artist some loveTT
> 
> This will probably forever stay one-chapter long, sorry:)

 

The base was fully manned. Good. That meant Talon wasn't expecting them. Nothing was more satisfying than having a hunch pay off. And this one paid off big time.

The place, quite inconspicuous all in all; it wasn’t crawling with armed guards until you took an elevator down, below the parking level, down to the dark, bare corridors that smelled of chemicals and rot. Gran Mesa’s sterile lab environment this wasn’t, that for sure, and what went on there was a horrific caricature of what the good doctors strived to accomplish. It filled Gabriel with a kind of perverse joy to see that the equipment used by Talon wasn’t top of the line – gone were the times when the terrorist organisation was able to obtain the newest scientific wonders; now that the black market was strictly monitored (not always legally, but who was there to ask) by Blackwatch’s associates it was impossible not to leave a trail.

With McCree on right flank and Genji already inside of the base, quick and silent like a shadow, with a handful of agents at his back that they've hand picked with Ana, Gabriel felt good about his job for the first time in a while. Talon never seemed able to invest in and maintain a proper, well-trained force. Their personal army, although numerous, consisted mostly of useless grunts and hardened mercenaries set in their ways, often unable to work together as concise units when push came to shove.

And with the way Ana had Overwatch crack down on more of the troubled areas year after year, the latter ones were quickly becoming a scarce resource. There would always be troublemakers with something to prove, but conditions that breed the old kind of disfranchised bad seeds were slowly turning. Old soldiers were dying out, new crop of mercenaries was more calculating than that, more educated. They grew up in the shadow of the war and Overwatch, and always thought twice about going up against it. How many times has Gabriel had them rest their weapons upon seeing him alone, ready to be taken in peacefully instead of the alternative?

Talon was like cancer, in the time it took to kill one cell three others spread behind your back and sometimes it seemed like there wasn't end in sight. But there was, logically, Gabriel knew that there was. That they were slowly, but surely gaining ground, that every cell they’ve discovered made things easier, gave them intel and new locations. That with every cell their enemy was growing more frantic, more partial to mistakes in their haste to cover tracks.

They were winning.

Sometimes it didn't quite feel like it, but they were.

The base was big, this time. Hidden in plain sight - not some dirty warehouse somewhere on the outskirts of a run down town on the coast. No, it was a five story office building with a private parking, a cafeteria and a back garden. Hell, people working there were mostly suits and scientists. The cover was solid, too - a small, privately funded unit researching renewable energy sources. It was only a hunch and a year of careful stalking - _investigation_ \- that revealed that not everything was as pristine under the hood.

It was more than what they've expected to find, to be honest. The intel led Gabe to believe that the unit was researching weapons, so he expected to find another warehouse (albeit swankier than the usual fare) stacked to the ceiling with inconspicuous crates full of laser guns, sonic grenades, and overall trash that could be taken to Gibraltar, scanned, disarmed and repackaged into even less conspicuous crates.

To be honest, they were rapidly running out of space for all of the damn crates they’ve managed to hoard throughout the years and it was a high time for something to change.

However, standing in the darkened, cramped room three floors below the street-level and staring at the floor-to-ceiling reinforced glass tube full of thick, slowly bubbling fluid, a few miles of plastic tubes and bits of metal encasing a pale, scarred human body… Gabriel wanted the goddamn crates back.

“Boss…” Jesse, standing next to him, started to speak, but the words frizzled out somewhere in the middle into a breathless hum of pity.

Johnson and Vikani, both old hands at this thing, stood a bit to the back, equally speechless. Because, fucking Christ, Talon was pickling a human in their basement and where the fuck were his arms and legs?!

“Get medics here, stat!” Gabriel barked, but unnecessarily, McCree was already confirming the dropdown of a medical cruiser that till now parked on the sidelines. But no, that wasn't enough. They needed more than that. “Call for Mercy.”

They needed the best.

He spared a thought for the cyborg - Genji was still a bit of a volatile material and no one really knew what could set him off on the best of days. Thankfully, McCree had it also covered, turning the boy in the doorway and ushering him out to clear the rest of the floor, leaving Gabriel alone in the room (a lab, it was a lab, there were computers and a stainless steel table backed into the far corner, and oh God, what was happening here?) with a man floating eerily in front of him.

As if hypnotised, Blackwatch Commander stepped closer to the tube, close enough to feel the cool radiating off of it - a cryo chamber? Like the ones they've employed in Antarctica? No, those ones weren’t fluid-based. The flat screen panel on the side beeped softly and, upon closer inspection, revealed that the man inside was, indeed, alive.

He was a big one; wide, strong chest with prominent pectorals, washboard stomach, trim waist. The legs were missing at the knees, but the scarred thighs looked appropriately thick - Gabriel skipped what was between them out of politeness. A plastic mask and a tangle of tubes obscured the man’s face, but from what could be seen, it looked quite young. Maybe the pale cast of his hair - shorn short, but not military short - was just the result of the weak lighting, not age.

And, try as he might, Gabe could not stop looking at that face.  

Something was uncurling inside of his head the longer he looked and for some reason, probably caused by watching too many movies, he expected the man to open his eyes and stare back. For even less discernible reason, Gabe somehow knew the eyes looking at him from behind the glass would be blue.

Or maybe he was finally cracking under the pressure.

He shook off the strange spell and lifted the communicator to his face. “Sombra.”

He didn’t have to wait for the comm to ping back. _“Hola, papi.”_

“Hola.” A look around the lab revealed that it was a mess. Most probably a purposeful one. “Are you in yet?”

_“Just about getting there. Tsk, the encryption they’ve used here is on another level than the usual fare. Either they’re getting smart…”_

“Or they have something important to hide.” And he had a feeling that he’s already found that thing, regardless of two more floors they yet had to search. “Listen up, get everything you can. If they set the data to self-deletion, prioritise financial info and any medical files you can find, understood?”

_“Medical? What do you have there, Gabe? And why are we getting Angie on board, is everyone alright?”_

She didn’t…? Oh, right, shit, the room had no cameras.

Strange and even more suspicious.

“Just get to work!”

_“On it, on it, don’t burst a vessel!”_

It didn't take long before the room became a whirlwind of activity, snapped out orders and equipment moved around to make space for the arriving doctor and her gear. But the man behind the glass didn’t react to any of it.

To Angela’s credit – and Gabriel already gave her plenty credit – once the doctor has entered the lab, it took only a moment for the shock to show on her face. Just one startled gasp; just one glassy-eyed, disbelieving look at the man floating in the tank and all the damage done to him. Then she straightened up, steeled her expression, and went about cracking the tube and releasing the poor guy into the world. Just much more carefully than Gabe could ever attempt to – her fingers flashed across the various keyboards, data flashing on the screens, Sombra’s hacker logo flashing alongside it, both women in hushed communication.

Gabriel, forced out of the way by a throng of medical staff and their gear, went back to securing the place, safe in the knowledge that Ziegler has a hand on the pulse back there.

The next time they’ve met was about five hours later, outside, in the back garden upgraded to an impromptu landing stripe for the transporters ready to take the prisoners back to the nearest watchpoint. The single silver/blue medical carrier stood out amongst the slick, black Blackwatch machines.

Angela looked tired when Gabe finally made his way to her side. She was discussing something with her assistant, but as soon as she saw the Commander, she turned to him.

“Sir.”

“You got him out no problem?” Gabe asked.

“Almost. Unfortunately, their databases were set up to auto-reset. By the time we got to them most of the data about the procedures was gone.” Her gaze travelled to the softly glowing biotic tank that three medical officers in white were securing in the carrier. “I can’t say exactly what has been done to him, apart from the obvious. We will need to observe and piece it together slowly. It may take time...”

“I trust you’ll do a good job, kid. You always do.”

That seemed to give her strength, so Gabriel didn’t regret the moment of softness. With a firm nod she boarded the carrier and he watched it lift off, steeling himself for his own awaiting duty.

 

* * *

 

A week later he was finally able to sit down and take a deep breath. The suspects have been booked, interrogated and locked up in the dungeons to be interrogated again and again, until all relevant information was extracted from them.  

The face of the man from the tank haunted his thoughts every waking hour.

Every time Gabriel closed his eyes, it was there, every time he took a break from command, every time he leaned back in his chair to breathe deeper or rub his eyes - _he_ was there. Silent and unmoving, floating in the blue light like some sort of a sleeping prince. Or a ghost.

That latter was pretty much a good description.

Two weeks in and they still had no idea who the John Doe was. The bloodwork was corrupted by the chemicals flowing in his veins, the genetic screening brought them nothing, neither did retinal scans.

His eyes were blue - a fact that freaked Gabriel out to a degree. They were blue and damaged enough for the scanners to pull up blank. The scars crossing his face somehow threw off the facial recognition programs. God, he wished that the US government still processed dental records, like in the past. What good was the international fingerprint database for if there was no fingers?

What they knew, was that the patient was in his early forthies, caucasian, surprisingly healthy for someone pickled in a cooler liquid for so long. There was enough synthetic chemicals in his body to power a small nuclear plant and, from the scant data pulled out of Talon’s databases, his casefile was marked with an alphanumeric symbol: S:76.

*

_“76, eh?” Jesse fiddled with the rim of his hat, a nervous habit he never got to drop. “So, where’s the other 75?”_

*

Good question.

A very good question that Gabriel had no answer for. The file was empty and the data Sombra had managed to pull out of the computers was not even close to useful in that case. It gave Blackwatch another target to work on, sure, a link to a possible investor from Numbani, but nothing about the experiments, nothing about the subject himself.

Mercy took a leave from her dayjob in Grand Mesa to stay in Zurich and work on the guy, which shouldn’t be surprising, but in a way was. After Genji happened, her attitude towards Blackwatch soured and it was harder and harder to secure her presence for the missions. This time she was on hand only because of the happenstance - some sort of a medical convention taking place in Switzerland.

Gabriel understood the young doctor’s reluctance to dip her fingers into the less savoury parts of Overwatch, he’d like to keep her as far away form them as he could, too, but when was the last time that life went his way? They needed the best they could get and she was the best. Thank God for her bleeding heart, at least in that aspect the poor pickled bastard was lucky.

And here he was again, thoughts circling around the man behind the glass. It was driving him up the goddamn wall!

Even worse, it seemed that his people picked up on his distraction and the more intelligent of them correctly connected it to the mystery currently occupying their medical bay.

“The pickle awake yet?”

Some, like Jesse McCree, could not keep their mouths shut.

“How should I know, McCree?” Gabriel tried not to growl at the kid, but it wasn’t easy.

Jesse made a habit of invading his office whenever he had nothing more interesting to do and Gabriel didn't feel like throwing him out on his ass. For all of his natural ability to annoy the living bejesus out of people, sometimes the cowboy seemed content to just sit on his commander’s couch, filling out his own reports. And Gabe usually didn't really mind all that much - having someone living around often helped to stop his mind from wandering and keep it on the task. Who would have thought that super soldiers were pack animals?

This time, however, even the presence of a friendly, but judging face didn’t seem to be helping. Five minutes in and Gabe caught himself deep in thought about the man in the jar.

Pickle, he had to thank Sombra for that one. Jesse came up with a Sleeping Beauty and Simmons, always the fucking intellectual, piped up with an Alice on the Other Side of the Mirror. Gabe sometimes wondered where the fuck did he find these people and why were they following him?

He didn’t know if Genji saw the man yet - wasn’t sure that he wanted to know. Confronting the kid with another victim of circumstance like that seemed cruel. But, then, if the man woke up, they would have two cyborgs on their hands…

_Okay, getting ahead of himself again there, Gabe. We don’t even know if he’s ever going to wake up._

Finding himself back in the square one, Gabe pushed away his current report and pulled up a screen with the most recent update on the John Doe. Angela was as always meticulous in her record keeping, even though there was not much progress being made. So far she did all she could to stabilise the man’s condition and - interesting - applied for funding.

Prosthetics, Gabe guessed. She wanted to make him prosthetics.

He scrolled down the list, frowning at the extensiveness of it. Nothing compared to Genji, sure, but still, four cybernetic limbs, spinal scaffolding, a lot of nerves to replace, eyes to fix… it was quite a lot of money.

The request hasn’t been approved yet - Ana was most probably as wary of another ‘scandal’ with the UN as any sane person would, - and Gabriel’s fingers itched take that decision out of her hands. Blackwatch had its own funds, they were running their own books. It wouldn’t cost them more than a new armoured Humvee or two.

He didn't though, because there were strings attached to that contract.

A man should be able to sell his soul to the Devil while fully conscious and aware of the weight of his decision. Another lesson they’ve learned with Genji.

Musing on how introspective the day was becoming, Gabe scrolled to the most recent photo.

Sleeping Beauty, indeed; even though the gravitation took away from his unearthly charm the man was still handsome. Even with his face was bruised, the hollows underneath his eyes dark and sunken. He got another haircut, Gabe noticed, really bad one - courtesy of the med staff, making him easier to manage and look less stupid with the bald patches where the sensors were glued to the skin. It was still sunflower blond, though, even though some shades of grey started to sneak in at the temples.      

A handsome guy, with strong jaw and straight nose, and lips that looked like they should be smiling…

Fuck, what was wrong with him!

He couldn’t stop staring at the face on the photograph, he couldn't chase away the feeling that he should know that man. He… somewhere, somehow, he knew that face. But for the life of him he couldn’t place him…

S:76

That meant nothing. _But_. Goddamnit! One thing that Gabriel hated more than defeat was uncertainty. And lack of information.

And small dogs, but that was unrelated.

Maybe that was the reason for his inability to just let the matter go. His brain latched to the mystery of the mutilated man in their hands and refused to let it go, eating precious processing power on pondering it at the most inconvenient times - in the shower, in the field, during meetings with the brass. In the middle of filling reports - although that one wasn't heard to accomplish, because there was hardly a more mind numbing job around. Pondering unrelated issues was a defense system of any healthy brain.

Even if the unrelated issue at hand was a head of blond hair and bluest eyes under the sun, a _nd a shy, bashful smile on a face that begged to be either kissed or punched…_

_Indiana!_

Gabriel reared back like a startled colt, almost crashing his chair to the ground, the tablet falling from his numb fingers. He ignored the way McCree yelped in fright on the other end of the room, hand going for the gun, as memories swarmed him, images before his eyes snapping in quick succession.

“What the hell, boss?!”

_The white bread boy from Indiana accepted into the program with Gabriel. They’d never talked, never had a chance, but Gabriel used to see him here and there - in the corridors, during exercise, the head of golden hair impossible to miss. The guy was a runner, he remembered that much, fastest one on the track, that’s why he’d paid attention._

_...until the third, final, stage of the program when the serums got serious and over a half of the candidates suffered an adverse allergic reaction._

Gabriel recalled that time through a haze of pain and sickness, the struggle of his body to rebuild itself to correct specifications enforced on it by the scientists. He didn’t remember much - just the fact that once the fevers passed the head of blond hair was missing from the common tables and that he was now the fastest guy on the track.

“Boss, you okay?”

He ignored Jesse’s concerned question, grasping at the straws presented to him, holding on for dear life so they’d stay in place before he got to Ana.

“Indiana!”

“Boss?”

First name…? He couldn’t… something generic. His team poked fun at it. Cornbread. Boyscout. Bob? Dave? John?

_He was in Section 2, Gabe could swear it. Sections were compiled according to the last name’s initial to promote equality amongst the subjects and achieve as unbiased results as it was possible. Section 1: A through H, Section 2: I through O, Section 3: P through Z._

And the guy was Section 2, certainly, because they’ve had breakfast before Gabriel's squad...

“Boss, mind telling me what's that all about?!”

“Move it, Jesse!”

“Move it where, boss!”

The corridors blurred before his eyes, people that stood in his way ignored in lieu of holding go to the memory. He barged into Ana’s office without preamble and to her credit the woman didn't even flinch at the noise. Her disapproving glare melted as soon as she saw the urgency with which Gabriel rushed to her desk, hands smacking into the surface strewn with papers.

“Jack _fucking_ Morrison!” He growled. To her raised eyebrow, he explained. “The John Doe we've recovered during the last mission! Specimen 76! His name is _Jack_ Morrison, he’s from Asscrack, Indiana, and was a part of the SEP program!” God fucking bless, his memory was amazing!

That had Ana up from the chair in the time it took Jesse to barge in behind Gabriel and pull the door closed on them.

“Are you sure?” She barked sharply.  

“Absolutely. “ Gabriel swallowed. “I remember him, Ana.”

“They’ve got a hold of a super soldier?”

This was a dangerous idea that had her hands tighten into fists.

Gabriel shook his head, lips tight. “No, he dropped out after the third round. Most of them did.”

That had earned him a breath of relief - Talon getting their hands on an enhanced soldier was a terrible, terrible thought. If they could reverse-engineer the serum, there was no telling what they’d achieve with its help. What kind of destruction they’d wreck on the world with even a few enhanced warriors on their side.

Gabe wasn’t getting any younger and he was the only one left.

”At least we know who the poor boy is,” Ana’s mind was already ticking, her hands on the keyboard, entering passwords and authorisation codes, and overrides only a Strike Commander of Overwatch would dare to use. It spoke of the trust they’ve shared that she didn't ask additional questions. “We can screen him for living family and do a background check. Good job, Gabriel,” she smiled at him, a small one, but kind, “maybe there’s a mother out there that will get her son back.”

Gabriel nodded, pulling a hand through his hair, distracted. There was _still_ something that didn’t sit well with him about it all though, but he guessed it was justified. They had a man in a healing tank that has been experimented on and nearly fucking _disassembled_ , a life that he knew impossible to return to. That wasn’t something one could just get over.

It had to be it, the feeling of pity - now that it could settle in properly, because Gabe _knew_ the guy before, now it was more _personal_.

It took a better part of a very tense half of an hour before the computer coughed up the info. The three of them crowded in front of the screen.

“Morrison, Jack John. As of now forty five.” Ana read out of the file, fingers thumping a steady rhythm on the glossy surface of her desk. “Indiana born and breed, you were right. Jumped through the hoops like a grasshopper. Kid had a lot of potential.”

Yeah, Gabe could see, the list of scores under the name was an impressive one. No wonder he’d been picked up for the program and a damn pity that he didn’t make it through to the end.

“Details of his time at the SEP, of course, encrypted. After he dropped out, he’d spent time recovering in a state hospital in West Virginia.” Here Ana smiled a bit. “Had to make an impression on him, because once he was discharged, he applied for medical corps. Made a captain. Served in Numbani and on home soil.” Here her eyebrows narrowed. “During a peace mission to the Outback the transporter he’s been on got hit by an unidentified missile and went down. The whole team reported MIA.” She leaned back from the screen. “Three years ago.”

Gabriel let his shoulders drop.      

“Fuck.” McCree’s quiet voice reminded the two commanders of his presence. The cowboy looked at them pensively, hat in hand. “They didn't have to be.”    

There was still something. Something that was not right with this whole situation, apart from the obvious, but he couldn't put his finger get on it. Even though he should feel pleased - he’s identified the man behind the glass, that was a success of some sort, maybe now he will leave Gabe’s thoughts alone?

Ana, without being asked, sent the data to Gabe’s inbox.

“Plot thickens,” she murmured, rubbing over the tattoo under her eye. “He was shot down over Australia three years ago and now he shows up in Switzerland of all places, hidden away like a dark secret by Talon.”

Yes, that was the riddle now, wasn’t it? What would Talon want out of one Jack Morrison, an army medic?

“That changes things,” the Strike Commander said after a moment. “We need him online.”

“What about the higher ups? The funding Angie applied for?” Gabriel was anything if not sharply aware that their little playground came with so many strings attached that it was more of a creature caught in a spider’s web than anything else. They were doing good in the world with the money they received, of course, but sometimes the meaning of ‘good’ was too subjective.

As was the point of keeping another man made puzzle alive. After Genji happened, UN was looking a little harder on their medical divisions’ bills and Gabriel’s ears still sometimes rang when he remembered the meeting three years ago where Ana had to explain in great detail to a bunch of political sheep that no, they’re not condoning human experimentation, they’re pushing trauma recovery, biotic medicine and functional cybernetics light years ahead to save a young boy’s life!

It was one of the times Gabe was grateful that the mantle of the Strike Commander didn’t fall on his shoulders.

Ana was a leader in a class of her own. Stern and no nonsense, but able to bend where Gabe would most likely break. He was too set in his ways and convictions, his spine too hard. But Ana also had the rare ability to make even her defeats look like victories, every time she had to give ground was like a graceful and generous allowance. That’s what Overwatch needed, in the end.

“You going to approve or should I?” He could keep it on the down low for a while, get the UN off her back.

“It’s not another Shimada, Gabriel. For one, he’s one of ‘ours’, an American citizen and a US soldier.” The look of her face matched Gabe’s feelings on that bit of hypocrisy. “Secondly, he’s more or less a war prisoner, kidnapped and experimented on by a terrorist organisation we’re aiming to overthrow.”

“Thirdly,” Jesse cut in, “we’ll wanna interrogate the poor fool. To see what he knows. Can’t do it while he’s in pieces.”

That was a grim inevitability that Gabriel for some reason didn’t want to entertain just yet.

“If he’s able to answer questions,” Ana noted sensibly.

“Angela excluded brain damage.”

Why was he defensive all of a sudden?

“Mental issues are something we have to take into account, regardless. As of now we just don’t know enough.” Ana sighed, looking at the holoscreen hovering over her desk. On it, a kid barely out of his teens was staring back at them from an old photograph, lips quirking up at the corners just like Gabe knew they would. So fucking young and pretty, and full of promise that never came to fruition. “I will keep Angela on the case and provide funding to put the boy back together. We can’t expect Genji’s level of enhancement, but I’ll make sure they won’t fix him up on the cheap.”

That was it, the end of the meeting. Ana had most probably something important to do that Gabe interrupted in the middle - and he had a mystery to solve and a terrorist cell to disassemble.   


 

* * *

 

Three months later Blackwatch was on their way to apprehending a notorious arms dealer in Kazakhstan, and Angela was cautiously considering rousing the Sleeping Beauty out of the medical coma.

Gabriel, to the surprise of his people, the good doctor, and by large his own, was a frequent guest in the medical wing; a fixture in front of the biotic chamber where Jack Morrison was sleeping the days away. The number of tubes and wires the man has been surrounded with didn’t change, but the warm glow of the biotic panels and the generally more cheerful environment helped immensely with making him look less like a corpse or a machine. The pale skin lost its bluish tint, the hair - slowly growing back - took on a wheaten sheen. He looked like a patient, now, not a victim, with every day closer to waking up.

And with every day that brought them closer to that moment, Gabriel’s skin was crawling more and more.

He didn’t know what he’s waiting on, not really, he wasn’t even sure why on some nights he’d take a break from studying reports and march his ass to the medical wing, to stare at the man like some sort of a creep. It was just something that he’d only caught himself on doing after it’s been done, finding himself lost in the artificial glow of the biotics and the scarred lines of Jack’s  familiar, but unfamiliar face.

And it was _Jack_ in his head now, not Morrison, not any of the many nicknames given to the man by the crew.

One of these nights he was so lost in thoughts that he’d completely missed the sound of soft footsteps coming closer, until they’ve stopped by his side. If it was a spy or an assassin, he’d be dead as a doornail, but luckily, it was only Dr Ziegler.

“In two days we should have enough done on the prosthetics to start attaching them,”  Angela said quietly without being prompted, without looking at him. They were both staring at the Sleeping Prince, instead, warming their hands on the mugs of cooling coffee, both visibly tired. “I’m not going to wake him up before we at least have the arms attached, he’s been through enough medical torture, waking up like that… that’s the stress he doesn't need now.”

Yeah, Gabe agreed. Waking up attached to a host of machines, in an unknown environment with no limbs at that, was akin to the worst nightmare one could have. That was a lesson they’ve learned the hard way with Genji.

God, so many things they’ve learned with that kid it was a wonder they were still able to get out of beds in the mornings. Gabe didn’t doubt that there was at least three people that had earned their doctorates and prematurely gray hair thanks to the young Shimada. There will probably be another two more after Jack is fixed up.

The doctor seemed to be able to read his mind on that night. “He’s under sleep therapy until that happens to lower the stress levels. Hopefully, it will be enough.”

“Don’t want to tranquilize him, doc?” Sure, it wasn’t the best first impression, but...

“I’m not sure I even could.” Angela’s eyes lowered to stare into her half-empty cup. “His DNA has been heavily manipulated and I don’t know which part of it was done by Talon and which is a remnant of SEP. Knowing what I know about you, I’d wager that standard tranquilisers won’t work as they should.”

Oh, that. Yeah, that was a thing Gabriel had learned all on his own many years before. Whatever chemical concoction powered his body took a disproportionate offence to anything else trying to meddle - painkillers, alcohol, sleeping pills… even coffee had so little effect on him that he was drinking it more for the flavour than anything else.

“They really did a number on him, hm?” He muttered, lost in thought. “Or was it the transport falling down?”

He was wondering about that, too. Were they jumping the shark? Was Talon to blame for the harm done to Jack - or was it the opposite? Were they the ones to _save_ him? Was he experimented on against his will or - was he another Genji, just on the other side of the fence?

That thought was a bitter one, made him consider saving the young Shimada in a different light entirely.  

“The injuries weren’t caused by the crash.” Angela wiped these doubts out, her voice tight. “Too precise, too clean, textbook amputations performed by a skilled surgeon in a perfect mirror image… not to mention, all the things done to him inside...”

Gabriel rested a gentle hand on her shoulder - she was so small next to him, barely an adult, soft and kind, and so, _so_ smart. A good doctor who wanted to heal the world that was left hurting and scarred after the war. Being faced with something like this had to be nothing less than horrifying to her. One of these days he will have to read the full report on the extent of Jack’s injuries.  

“Go to sleep, Angie,” he said in the end, pushing her slightly towards the door. “We need our good doctor rested.”

He’ll stand watch over the sleeping prince in her place.

  
  


* * *

 

The report was a harrowing piece of prose to push through. Not only because of the language used - impersonal and technical, full of latin-sounding terms and speculations. No, above that, it was simply fucking _grisly_.

Gabriel didn’t want to keep comparing Jack to Genji, but damn if both poor bastards didn't have things in common. It was almost eerie how their medical staff was almost prepared to take care of another human puzzle that feel into their hands by accident. Hopefully, that wasn’t going to become a recurring thing with Blackwatch - no matter how the ten year old child inside of Gabe’s soul cheered at the idea of leading a team of cyborgs.

At some point he will need to talk to Genji about it, prepare him for the possibility that there may be another like him walking the Earth. As much as the boy tried to seem uninterested in the happenings around him and project the air of a soulless killer, he was anything but. It was only fair to prepare him for the possibility of having a compatriot, so to speak.

Gabe read through the report slowly, paying attention to every detail and, on paper, it seemed pretty straight forward. With as little as they’ve managed to recover from the databases, Sombra and Angela had managed to compile a bleak, but believable story.

And yet, something was still not right. Something didn’t stick all the way.

Gabriel Reyes was a man of intellect, sure, but he was also a creature of instinct - it saved his ass too many times to ignore when something in the back of his brain whispered that there’s more at play, that the case of Jack Morrison is more than it seems.

It was a maddening itch, impossible to scratch, simple curiosity growing into an obsession he could not control.

“Boss, I’m going to get some coffee.” Jesse proclaimed loudly, cracking his spine into place. “We finishin’ soon or what? I need my beauty sleep, you know.”

“I didn’t tell you to sit with me, McCree,” Gabe answered without looking up from the file. “You were the one who invited yourself in. You’re free to go whenever.”    

“And leave you alone to obsess over the Sleeping Beauty?” The cowboy grasped his heart in mock horror. “Come on, boss, I couldn’t.”

“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up.”

“I will. Want me to bring you something? You even had dinner today?”

As a matter of fact… he didn't quite remember.  Bad sign.

“Wait up, I’ll go with you.” Leaving the office for a while was a good idea. He needed air. He needed to put his thoughts in order.

The base was silent as they’ve traversed the corridors in the direction of the cafeteria, as it should be at this time of night, but Gabe felt on edge. He didn't really like spending time at the Swiss HQ, preferring the smaller and somehow more open Gibraltar. It was out of sight, less conspicuous - a good strategic position with a great view as a bonus.

However, Gabe had to admit, Zurich had the best coffee out of all watchpoints.

The cafeteria was empty when they entered it, beelining to the row of shiny, ridiculously robust coffee makers lined by the wall next to the snack machines. A year ago Ana’s decree pertaining to junk food came through and now all available sandwiches had at least some nutritional value in them, but, thankfully, the coffee supplies remained untouched.

Gabriel picked up four BLTs and a couple of protein snacks while his coffee brewed. By the time his latte was ready he was down to one sandwich and a few lonely crisps on the bottom of the last packet, trying not to burst out laughing at the sight of McCree’s stunned expression.

“How do ya even…” The cowboy rubbed his eyes tiredly, forgoing the rest of the question. It wasn’t the first time he’s seen his commander eat, after all. “Will never get used to it, I swear.”

“Super soldier,” Gabe said in lieu of explanation. “Super stomach.”

Super metabolism was a bitch, sometimes. Thankfully, Overwatch provided for its minions.

He picked up two more sandwiches and waited for Jesse to doctor his black coffee with sugar and cream. The way back to his office was also silent, Gabe’s mind back to busying itself with the curious case of Jack Morrison and his complete inability to let it go.

Jesse, sharp as the boy was, had to pick up on it.

“Can’t stop thinking about the Pickle, eh?”

Of course, emotionally, the kid was sometimes as dense as a brick.

“I get ya boss, the whole thing stinks up to high heavens.”

“There’s something we're missing,” Gabriel admitted quietly. “Something we’re not seeing, Jesse. I have a feeling that the transport crash wasn't an accident, that Talon wanted something out of these people specifically, but I have no leads. No trail to follow until Jack’s awake.” And how it was getting on his nerves!

When the sound of footsteps following him suddenly stopped, Gabe looked over his shoulder at the cowboy, eyebrows raised.

“Boss, listen.” Jesse’s voice was concerningly thick, his eyes narrowed sharply as if he was looking down the muzzle of a gun on a target that didn't want to stay still. “SEP was a close guarded secret, ain’t it? Akin, The Secret, eh?”

“Something like that, yeah.”

“As in, complete mum, no peep, burned files kinda thing?”

“Yeah, once it turned out that the costs were too high and the war has ended, the project was abandoned and the files destroyed. Everything pertaining to it was placed under lock and key, all super soldiers were always accounted for, even after death.” Their bodies always recovered and disposed of by the government, no trace left of the serum to get into unauthorised hands. Gabriel narrowed his eyes as the kid slowly walked up to him. “What are you thinking, Jesse?”

“Juss’ that, getting a hand on the serum would be near impossible, eh? With the secrecy and it not being there and there being just you left.”

“Yes. Out with it, McCree!”

“Just thinkin’... you sain’ that this Morrison dropped out mid-project. Many did. Did anyone keep an eye on ‘em?”

“Not as far as I know.” There was a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach, growing, threatening to overcome him before his brain caught up to what Jesse was implying. “They never got to the end of it, most of them was damaged beyond rehabilitation.” Failures, they’d had called them. Washouts.

“But they got some of that stuff in them, right?” The wheels were spinning in the cowboy’s head. “From where I’m sitting… if you get enough scraps, in time you can build something out of ‘em.”

The feeling settled in a heavy brick on the bottom of his gut.

Fuck.

Fuck!

 

* * *

 

He did research.

Most of the data about the SEP was classified, but Gabriel had Sombra at hand and too little patience left for something as trivial as the statue of secrecy. It took a few days, way longer than he’d assumed it would, and at the end of it the whole picture had him almost throw his datapad at the wall in a fit of inexplicable rage.

Of course no one had paid attention to the rejects, no one tracked them, no one wanted to remember of the failures that gave way to the perfect soldiers that saved the world. No one cared for the scraps that fell to the wayside as the project commenced.

And so no one had noticed when they’d started to disappear.   

 

* * *

 

It took over a week of scouring the last fifteen years worth of police reports, newspaper clippings and missing person ads. Over a week of comparing circumstances, locations and evidence. Over a week of running on energy drinks and no sleep for Gabriel to finally see the whole picture spread out in front of him. To have enough solid proof of foul play in is hands that he could bring it up with the Strike Commander in an official capacity.

Now  he knew why his brain couldn’t leave the case alone, knowing before him that something was wrong. Because it was about the SEP, of which Gabe was the last standing member.

Because that made it _personal_.

He actually scheduled a meeting with Ana, something he hadn’t need to do in over five years, partly to show how serious of a case he thought it was, partly to have it go into the books. To do it properly. Secrecy around the project had already fucked over too many people and Gabriel felt a bit of vengeful glee at the idea of airing out this particular set of old rags. General public would never hear of this, of course, but he intended to kick the chairs under a few high rank asses in the nearest future.

But first, he needed to get some support.

It wasn’t hard. He read out the list of missing people to Ana, who listened to him in stunned silence, hands clenching tighter with every name he dropped.

Eighty three men and women survived the third round of injections, but were too damaged to carry on with the programm. Thirty five of those survived the war in various states of ability.

And out of those thirty five, over then years later, Jack was the only one accounted for.

After a long moment of tense staring Ana rested her head on her hands.

“Fuck.” She said one single word. It was enough to tell Gabe what he needed to know.

Jack was going to wake up sooner than scheduled.  

 

* * *

 

Angie wasn't happy about the change of plans, - they didn’t have the legs ready and there was still some work done on Jack’s optical nerves, but the good doctor went above and beyond to make it possible. Once Ana explained the situation and the stakes involved, they had the good Doctor’s full cooperation. The med bay turned into a beehive of activity for a couple of days, the medical staff and prosthetic engineers were in and out of Jack’s room at all times and Gabe’s visiting hours were cut short. He was busy with other things, of course, now more than ever, because Blackwatch didn’t simply stop to accommodate one extra project.

He didn’t see the end result until the final day, the day of truth. Angela was sure that she was able to wake her patient up from his prolonged coma with minimal damage, but Gabe was still wary. It all felt to be happening too quick and he was still puzzled by the level of his own emotional investment in the whole thing.

The awakening took a bit over an hour - an hour of carefully adjusted medication and blinking lights on a half a dozen free-floating screens that Angela and her crew had under constant watch.

Gabriel didn’t intrude, there was hardly any space left for him in the small room - he left three guards at behind the door, with orders to react at any sign of the patient getting violent, but otherwise took on a hands off approach. Still, being a nosy fucker, he had set up a feed from the room to the main screen in his office.

He tried to play it cool, but the moment Morrison’s eyelids started to twitch, Gabe’s back straightened in the chair and he had to consciously work on laying his hands flat on the surface of the desk to prevent them from forming fists.

Jack’s face looked battered and worn, regardless of the nutrition and biotics pumped into his veins over the last months, his eyelids and the areas under his eyes were still dark from bruising, making it easier to see when the pale eyelashes finally lifted to reveal thin slits of whites. Then they lowered again. A moment passed where Gabe was sure that neither him nor anyone on the other side of the feed dared to breathe too loudly. Then Jack’s face twitched, his lips opened for a deep, breathless groan, and he finally opened his eyes.

Angela was already there, leaning over him, trying to focus all of his attention on herself, to guide her patient’s consciousness in the right direction.

“Captain Morrison?” She whispered, eyes jumping from the man’s face to the screen close to his head. “Are you awake? Can you blink for me?”

Morrison moved suddenly, much in a way that sleepy people did when startled - a full-body flinch, uncoordinated and chaotic. Angela, to her credit, didn't flinch back.

“Shh, shh, Jack, stay calm.” She soothed, moving to the man’s first name. ”You are out, Jack, you are in the care of Overwatch. Please stay calm.”

The pale eyes slowly focused on the doctor as she leaned closer. She was brave to do it, Gabriel admitted, to risk the man flailing at her in panic, stacking her cards on the hope that he won’t.

And he didn’t. One of his arms lifted - and Gabriel tensed, ready to jump in, even though he was almost half of a mile away from the scene - but it was enough for Dr Ziegler to rest her hand in the crook of the cybernetic elbow for it to stop mid-air. Gabriel wasn’t sure if she exerted any force, but the arm dropped down as the man’s eyes seemed to clear, the muddled panic slowly evaporating from his expression. The pain and fear remained, but they were joined by a small shard of something akin to hope.

“We…” The words that came out of trembling, scarred lips were weak and breathy. His voice was gravelly and rough, and speaking obviously came to the man with difficulty – from damage or despair. Maybe both. “ ...we...were… we’re… found?”

Angela gave him the smile - the one Gabriel, and anyone visiting the med bay back in the day enough knew by heart. The gentle, calming, not-exactly-happy, but glad-enough smile of a kind angel that had the ability to lower one’s blood pressure with its’ sheer presence. Unsurprisingly, it worked this time too.

“You have been rescued, yes. The place you were being kept at is no more. Right now you're in the Overwatch HQ, in Zurich.”

The cloudy blue eyes misted over and Gabe had to fight with himself not to turn away. Dealing with emotional people was never his strongest suit, but if anyone had a right to be emotional in this situation, it was the man before him.

There was more growled words from him and some soothing murmurs from Dr Ziegler when Gabriel quietly muted the feed and, after a moment of helpless staring at the screen, switched it off completely. Nothing of tactical import to be learned from yet. Jack was awake and aware, didn’t seem like his brain took too much damage, that was all Gabriel needed to know right now.

Angie seemed to have it all in hand, Morrison wasn’t violent and there was a whole host of medical procedures that will have to be performed before any sort of questioning can take place. It wasn’t his place to involve himself yet, the man deserved at least that little bit of respect from him.

He had a desk stacked high with papers, and a battle to win.

And this time it was personal.


End file.
